


Old And New Gifts

by Tonko



Series: Grand Line Weyr [4]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pern
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-10
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonko/pseuds/Tonko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ace loses something, forgets something else, Smoker is a dick, and then is sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old And New Gifts

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the first part of this series, it was written before Impel Down and Marineford, or Ace's flashback would've been different.
> 
> Beta'd by the awesome [printfogey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/printfogey/profile). Any remaining errors are all mine.

The archipelago beneath them was unscathed—all Thread had been burned before it could reach the farm fields below, each ground crew giving a vigorous all-well flag signal to the check-in riders that came to get their reports.

Something else had fallen, however. Merath rose on a gust of wind above the last ground crew to circle slowly, and Ace sighed. He put a hand on his head and when it landed on his wind-tangled hair, instead of the familiar shape of his hat, he cursed for the hundredth time since this morning’s 'Fall.

“Fuck!” Ace swore loudly into the wind, and Merath offered a warm rush of sympathy.

 _I'm sorry it was lost,_ the brown said unhappily, _the winds were rough today._

They'd had to tuck and roll to avoid a wayward clump of Thread, and while Ace usually kept the strings of his hat cinched tight for flights, their escape maneuver had been so quick and the wind had come from just the right—no, make that wrong—direction, that he'd felt the hat bump up and over, felt the laces slide forward under his chin, and then it was gone, and he couldn't even spare it a glance as it tumbled down to the island just below them. Past the mid and low altitude wings, all the way down, if it hadn't been tangled in falling Thread and incinerated on the way.

Merath had righted them, and they'd returned to their place in the formation, Ace feeling the sharp sting of grief and guilt that he could not let distract him from the 'Fall. Smoker had told him it was stupid to wear the hat in flight, but he hadn't wanted to leave it behind. For this? For this task he'd been handed by Merath's choosing him, a task he'd trained for to meet Smoker's exacting standards, something that let him keep the ideals of loyalty and honour that Whitebeard had taught him... to leave his hat behind was just wrong, it disrespected the one who'd given it to him.

It wasn't that famous straw hat, the symbol of the people who had united, uplifted and helped so much of this wild Territory, but it was important to Ace.

*

“Aaaaace, wait!” Luffy pounded down the path to the docks. “AAAAACE!!!”

They'd said goodbye already. Luffy had bawled into his chest, despite his fourteen years, and then pulled back, sniffed, and wiped his face, summoning a big smile.

Now Ace was ready, his boat prepared to head out for... well, who knew? And that was the fun of it, that was why Luffy had been able to smile at him, because he understood, would leave himself one day, and they'd find each other out in the ocean.

But now Luffy was skidding around the big boulder in front of the tree where the well-stomped path from the town met the cobbled base that the wooden docks were built against. His straw hat was flapping behind him as usual, the strings holding it against his back. He didn't look distressed, though, he was grinning just like before, even if his eyes were shinier than normal. He was holding something in one hand, but Ace couldn't tell what as Luffy flailed the last few steps onto the dock.

“What?” Ace asked, annoyed with being made to wait, and with having to wrench himself away from Luffy all over again. There was a reason he'd said goodbye to everyone separately; if he’d faced them all together it would have been so much harder. Luffy, even alone, had been the hardest. Ace wanted to leave, he needed to, but it didn't mean it was easy.

“Ace, Ace, you need to have this. Makino helped me order it from a special shop, and it got delivered a month ago, but I was saving it till today, except I almost forgot,” Luffy panted, and shoved the whatever-it-was at his chest. Ace reached up to grab it by reflex.

His hands closed around a stiff brim, and Ace dragged his gaze down from Luffy's wet, happy eyes to see a hat.

Not, like he might have guessed, a copy of Luffy's—though maybe that would've been stupid to expect, that straw hat belonged to Shanks, and Luffy didn't share it—not even in the same style. It looked a little like a herder's hat, except it was bright orange. It had a wide brim and high crown, and a pair of red laces dangled below. Ace quite liked it. It could use a little decorating, maybe, but... “Thanks, Luffy,” he said. He set it on his head and tied a knot near the bottom of the laces.

Luffy laughed happily. “Now you have everything you need.”

*

And it was as good as lost, now.

It meant nothing to anyone but him, which almost made it worse, because it only annoyed Smoker, who would certainly rub this in, later, especially since Ace had been teasing him with it for years, wearing it up into every 'Fall since graduation from weyrlinghood had given him the freedom from clothing regulations.

So he had to... he had to look. It was barely midmorning now, this 'Fall had been early, and it was a restday. He had to look for it.

 _Tell them we're staying here, tell them we got a request for help, we're... helping someone move, or something,_ Ace told Merath. That excuse was better than the oft-used 'going hunting' because people were unlikely to join in for a chore. Personally, Ace thought it was a credit to Smoker’s efforts at reintegrating the Weyr into the daily life of the territory that people felt they could request a dragon’s strength to help them.

Merath did as requested, and sure enough, he was left alone. Ace stared down at the fields before him, unbuttoning his flight jacket to pull it off and stuff it under a loop on Merath’s riding straps. No chilly winds at this low altitude, just sun and breezes. Tall stalks of corn waved at him, the cluster of buildings beyond, then more corn and then, in the distance, the ocean again. They'd been over this island when he'd lost it. If it had reached land, it would be here.

Somewhere.

Ace felt his face heating, a knot forming in his throat, idiotic, childish frustration at the sheer impossibility of this search, his earlier grief returning at the nearly-certain fact that the hat Luffy had given him was gone, burned in the skies during fall or waterlogged at the bottom of the ocean or blown somewhere Ace just wouldn't find, destined to rot slowly away with exposure to the elements.

Merath offered sympathy again, distressed at his rider's grief. _My eyes are very good. I will see it if it's there to see._

Smoothing one hand over Merath's brown hide, Ace blew out a breath. _Let's look._

Merath lowered them slightly and began an even glide over the first field, enough to let Ace scan the ground for a spot of orange among all the green. _Seigith says Smoker wants to know 'what the fuck you're still doing out here,'_ the dragon said suddenly, his usual amusement at transmitting Smoker's exact words to Ace, one he shared with Seigith, not present just now.

Ace huffed a laugh without any humour, then clenched his fists in unhappy embarrassment. _Nothing. Just—I mean, don't tell them. Just say what I said before._

*

 _Helping someone move?_ Smoker asked Seigith, incredulous, _he was going on for hours about showing us that fishing spot._

 _I just said that's what Merath_ told _me,_ Seigith replied pointedly, amused sympathy in his mindvoice, and Smoker glanced at the hat sitting on the sideboard of his office.

It had come tumbling down from the high-altitude wing, a speck of almost invisible orange in a sunrise-lit sky. Smoker had just happened to spot it, and Seigith had darted after it on his command. Only a few dragonlengths down, and Seigith had snatched it from the air with one hind foot, catching the laces between two toes. He'd held it safely the remainder of the flight, though the violent winds had driven both their attention from thinking of telling Ace where his hat had ended up until after it was over. At which point the wingleader of Ace’s high-altitude wing had relayed that Ace had broken off from returning with the rest of them.

This wasn’t against any regulations—only haring off without informing anyone was. But it had been an unpleasant surprise for Smoker.

 _Right. So he IS out looking for this damned thing,_ Smoker concluded. He felt taken aback and... angry.

Ace had spent the entire week leaning on Smoker to get him to go fishing with him. He’d gone through ridiculous and often childish contortions to convince him, and Smoker had agreed, finally, ostensibly to shut Ace up, though honestly he had started looking forward to it, and so had been expecting a day alone with Ace.

But. Apparently all that effort on Ace's part and the difficulty they both knew Smoker had with agreeing to take any time away warranted not even an apology for fucking off looking for his stupid hat, or even an honest answer to a simple question.

It wasn't as though not seeing Ace for a day would make Smoker pine away or anything so asinine. The two of them were hardly the joined-at-the-hip type of lovers. They spent far more time apart than together—Ace had plenty of friends, and Smoker had plenty of work.

But this was the first time Smoker had ever been… stood up.

Well, if Ace couldn't tell him what he was really doing, if he’d really rather look for that orange eyesore than do what they’d originally planned, Smoker didn't mind letting him screw around out there for a while.

Seigith tsked at him, but Smoker ignored it, even when Seigith accused him of sulking, and grabbed the next pile of reports he had to review. It was restday, and he didn't have to do this now, but in the absence of what he'd been looking forward to, he refused to enjoy any other leisure.

Damn the brat.

*

 _How can such a small island seem so huge?_ Ace groaned out loud along with the thought, and slumped down over Merath's neck. The brown was perched on a low cliff, and they were overlooking the waves breaking over the rocks just below.

 _We still have time to search,_ Merath comforted. It was late afternoon now. Ace had set Merath down in the town square of the island sometime after midday to buy a lunch, causing a stir among the locals, especially the children. That would have been much more entertaining on any other day, but Ace was not in the mood. Merath made up for Ace’s unsociable preoccupation with his typical gentle indulgence. Few adult dragons were as tolerant as Merath towards curious children—Merath actively enjoyed them, and had been just the slightest bit reluctant to leave when Ace was ready to start looking again.

Now, though, the dragging resignation was setting in. No one he’d asked had seen anything promising. Half the island remained to be searched, the sheer magnitude of the task was already apparent: all the little places to look, the constant awareness that the chance of it even having reached land was so small...

_Alright. Let's go again._

*

Smoker smacked the last report down onto the 'done' stack and arched back in his chair, stretching, feeling his spine pop from the hunch he’d maintained over the past few hours. He sighed and glowered at the pile. Well, at least it was dealt with. Fishing certainly wasn't productive at all.

 _You’re not even fooling yourself, my love,_ Seigith said, and Smoker snorted.

He stood up and left the administrative offices, moving out into the halls that led to the Dining Hall. Two weyrbrats ran past him, ducking and slowing to a fast walk at his barked admonition. Being late for evening meal was no excuse for running in the halls. The littler ones often tripped and fell when they ran, and Smoker hated that.

The Dining Hall was quite empty though, most of the full riders elsewhere for their restday suppers, only the candidate and unflighted weyrling tables approaching full. Smoker stood in the doorway a few moments before sighing in annoyance and turning to walk back to his office. The wing he led was entirely absent. Tashigi was off hunting with Shigureth... even Hina was away, on a diplomatic visit to Alabasta, and he didn't enjoy eating alone these days.

 _Is he really still out there?_ Smoker asked tiredly. Seigith answered with wordless acquiescence, and Smoker felt a pang of begrudging guilt, though his aggravation and stung disappointment remained.

 _Ah, Merath says they're returning soon,_ Seigith amended. Smoker sat down again and grabbed for the monetary allowance ledger with more force than strictly necessary.

 _Ask him if he wants to go fishing,_ Smoker told the bronze, his original anger returning more than strongly enough to provoke him to snideness.

*

 _Oh.... First Egg...._ Ace blinked stupidly as Merath relayed Seigith's message. _I forgot. I forgot._ And suddenly the day was so much worse. _Let's get back._ He closed his eyes and brought up the familiar visualization of the starstones, and Merath took them _between_ and home.

Appearing over the Weyr, Ace felt the lack of his hat strongly as they took the familiar glide-path down towards their weyr, no strings tugging at his neck, no bumping against his shoulders from the wind. Ace slid off and unbuckled Merath's riding straps, further guilt settling over him at the marks slightly indented into the brown hide. The straps were not intended to be worn for so long. But Merath never complained. Ace took them and his coat and dumped them inside his weyr, returning with a pot of hide oil and a soft cloth.

 _Where is he?_ he asked Merath as he pressed a careful massage over the places that the straps had dug in.

The brown's pause as he asked and waited for the reply left Ace enough time to recall all the effort he'd spent this week getting Smoker to agree to actually take his restday for rest, and join Ace at a freshwater fishing hole that, as far as he could tell, no one had ever found before. It was a pretty spot, with clear water and stupid, easy-to catch fish. It was on an uninhabited island that was too far from any towns or holdings to make a leisure residence, too small to bother living on, or to hunt at. Just a rocky island with a small but healthy wooded area and an unexpected little lake.

Romantic, maybe, under guise of a traditional hobby. Not that either of them really fished. It had just been an excuse, and he’d been thrilled when Smoker had finally agreed, expressing his joy with the full measure of smugness the victory had warranted.

Ace grimaced at his original intention. So much for that.

It came as no surprise when Merath told him that Smoker was in his office. When Ace was satisfied with his tending of the hide marks, Merath ferried Ace to the bowl, giving him a comforting nudge as he headed for the entrance to the Lower Caverns.

Ace pushed open the door to the weyrleader’s office, unable to force a cocky grin or a suggestive greeting, and Smoker looked up from a ledger, his familiar annoyed expression sharper and rawer than usual, and Ace felt it hit him deeper than he would have expected.

So, there it was. After Ace had dragged that begrudging agreement from him, Smoker hadn't taken Ace's forgetting as an opportunity to get free of the obligation, but as a slight. Ace had actually hurt him.

Smoker's expression changed as he held Ace's eyes, though, the anger fading somewhat, and Smoker's eyebrows came down briefly in surprised concern, before that reaction was buried back under surly aggravation.

“What d'you want, Portgas,” Smoker grunted, looking back down at his ledger and entering a figure into a column on the page. Ace dropped himself into one of the wooden armchairs just inside the door and stared at the stone floor.

He couldn’t say anything for awhile, stymied by unexpectedly arresting guilt and the heavy atmosphere. Only the scratch of Smoker’s pen or the clink of it against the ink jar broke the silence.

“I lost—I had to—” By the First Egg, was there any point in even trying to explain? How would the truth seem any better to Smoker than his original stupid excuse? The loss of the hat would be fodder for mockery, and while nowadays so much of that between them was lacked any intent to offend, Ace didn't think he could feign indifference about this.

Of course, beyond that self-absorbed line of thought, the fact remained that Ace had forgotten their plans, been so wrapped up in a futile search it all had just vanished from his mind, and for that he deserved a good dose of guilt. “I'm... sorry,” he said to the floor, “I—”

“Hey,” Smoker interrupted him, and Ace looked up. Smoker wasn't didn’t meet his eyes, but jabbed his pen towards the wall shelving where old ledgers and record books sat in neat rows over the sideboard that was almost always uncluttered, because Smoker kept the books tidy and didn't leave even one lying open longer than necessary.

Ace shoved himself to his feet and moved forward so he could see around the side panel to whatever Smoker was pointing at.

His hat.

His hat was there, bright orange against the dark-stained wood, the beads all still in place, the laces and their cinch medallion still present and accounted for, and Ace stared, feeling for a moment the memory of Luffy's hands shoving it against his chest, and the memory of it lifting off and away and vanishing into dawn-lit skies. Ace bounded forward, snatched it up, and spun to stare at Smoker. “You… it's…”

“Even less eloquent than usual today, I see,” Smoker muttered, raising his head partway to look sideways at Ace, and he grimaced. “So don't waste your breath on apologies. Today was a fuck-up on all accounts.”

Ace struggled with elated relief and a hot flare of anger that Smoker had let him search all day long, let him think it was gone.

Except that wouldn't have happened if he hadn't let himself get so tunnel-visioned in the first place.

Guilt and anger met and stuck, turning to neutral, dragging fatigue. He didn’t have the energy or the inclination for a confrontation over the wrecking of the day's plans that they'd both contributed to.

He had his hat back.

And Smoker _had_ just apologized, or as close as Ace knew he'd ever get to an explicit one.

“You... son of a bitch,” Ace managed finally, meaning it. But he held his hat with both hands, his thumbs tracing the edge of the brim.

“You too,” Smoker returned. “Seigith whined all day about not seeing that damned fishing hole.”

“Hah. Yeah. Right,” Ace sighed, not pretending for a second to actually believe that, aware that Smoker didn’t expect him to.

He let his relief at having recovered his hat start to smooth the day's upheavals down to where he thought he might even salvage these last few hours. Smoker was sorry, he was sorry… they both seemed to have had a miserable day. No point in dragging that on any longer.

He wandered back to the chair he'd sat in, still holding the hat to his chest, and dropped down into it, letting go of the hat with one hand to prop his head on his fist. “You tired of that boring work stuff yet, Captain? I can think of better things to do.” He felt a yawn overtake him and thought that bed might be a good place for this to end up.

_*_

Smoker glanced up before he answered, and his reply died away before he spoke it; Ace was sleeping, gone from awake to asleep in an instant, as he was wont to do, particularly when he had actual reason to be tired.

A thick cord of guilt still dragged through him at having willingly left Ace to his hours of pointless searching, his own anger faded now to show the petty desire to hurt that had been under it. The worn-out grief Smoker had seen in Ace's face when he'd entered had presented the heretofore ignored idea that perhaps the hat was more than just something for Ace to thumb his nose at Grand Line Weyr's traditional dress code. The way he'd snatched it up supported that idea, and Smoker felt extremely uncomfortable and ashamed about his actions today.

So they _weren't_ lovers joined at the hip or even the kind of couple that shared the same weyr... they weren't suited to that. But the emotions underlying their outwardly-casual relationship were real, they ran deep, and so they could hurt each other.

At least he was reasonably sure Ace would let Smoker make it up to him, make it up to both of them, for this stupid waste of a day.

He marked his page in the ledger and closed it, rising to walk across and stand over Ace where he was slumped in the chair. Ace still held the hat to his chest, and Smoker reached down to tug it from under the weight of his arm and take a proper look at it.

It was entirely familiar to him now, as offensively orange as ever, the red-painted wooden beads and fired-ceramic face medallions sewn to the base as oddly striking as ever. He'd handled it before, generally removing it from Ace's head before sex, or tossing it back to him afterwards. His dislike of it at this point was, in all honesty, nonexistent, the whole thing mainly habit, because Ace enjoyed riling him and he was comfortable now with letting him do that.

Ace, it seemed, hadn't quite realized that.

 _Merath says he was embarrassed._ Seigith told him, and Smoker could picture Ace’s sweet-natured dragon sharing the details of the day’s toils with Seigith, now that Ace had presumably allowed it. Or at least was asleep, and unable to prevent it.

Merath often spent time with Seigith, and today, despite Ace's distress, was no different. Smoker was glad; Merath was one of the few dragons at the Weyr who didn’t treat Seigith with unfortunately isolating deference—he never had, his open affection for the bronze something that Smoker was totally certain came from Ace’s own decidedly irreverent attitude towards authority. Merath was not irreverent, but neither was he awed or nervous or obsequious as some dragons could be. He was just mild, friendly Merath, and a good friend.

Smoker could tell Seigith appreciated it—the big bronze wasn’t as gregarious as some dragons, but he got lonely from time to time with most of the Weyr’s dragon population being just a little too respectful of his status. Less, now, and Smoker was happy for that.

It also meant Merath didn't sugarcoat or hedge what he told the bronze. He just told the truth. _He says his rider thought you would make fun of him,_ Seigith added, mindvoice a little pointed, because Smoker couldn’t deny that accusation. He wouldn’t have meant it, but it would’ve hurt anyway.

 _Well, it’s over now,_ Smoker said, with a heavy sigh at the whole great miscommunication. He reached out and ran his fingers through some of the messy hair falling around Ace’s face.

“Mmh,” Ace woke up and his hand clutched at nothing for a moment, where his hat had been, before his gaze focused on Smoker in front of him. “Oh,” he said, and then fell silent, his temple warm under Smoker’s fingers. He withdrew his hand, stroking over Ace’s cheek briefly as he did.

“So. Where's it from?” Smoker asked, and placed the hat back on Ace's chest, turning to open the door. He looked back over his shoulder to make sure Ace hadn't dropped off again.

Ace got to his feet with a stretch, and finally put the hat over his head again, then pushed it so it hung as it often did down his back. “My brother gave it to me,” he said with a shrug, but his eyes met Smoker's with a furtive look. Smoker held it and responded with an easy nod. Ace's expression lost its strained look, and Smoker was suddenly deeply grateful he had seen that hat as it fell.

“You eat?” he asked. At Ace's headshake, he jerked his head in the general direction of the dining hall. Ace fell in beside him, and Smoker controlled his next breath out before it became an audible sigh of relief.

*

Not much later that evening, Ace was asleep in Smoker’s bed. They’d taken dinner up to Smoker’s weyr, and Ace had probably intended more after that, for which Smoker would have been quite willing, but Ace had fallen asleep on the table after he’d finished eating. Well, at least he’d _finished_ eating.

It was more likely the stress of the day than any real physical exhaustion, Smoker knew, and had just carried him to his bed, settling him in with the ease of what was now quite a familiar routine, and gone back out to tidy up with a headshake and a sigh. With any luck he’d wake up later, if not, well, Smoker paused thoughtfully and cast a glance back to where Ace was sprawled under his blanket, there was no ‘Fall tomorrow morning…

He was nearly done putting the dishes back into the carry basket when Seigith alerted him with a burst of happiness that Orith and Hina were on the way back from Alabasta.

 _Orith seems very pleased!_ Seigith told him. That was good. The visit had probably been productive.

Hina and Orith arrived back at the Weyr some minutes later. Smoker met them in the bowl after Orith’s first landing at Hina’s weyr to unload her travel bags, and was surprised to see she carried a woven basket in her hands. Seigith greeted his queen happily, Smoker greeted his partner in leadership with less overt pleasure but was nonetheless pleased and relieved to have her back, childish speech patterns and all.

“Welcome back,” he said as she leaped easily down from her perch on Orith. The gold rumbled, stretched and took off with a woosh of air, heading for her favourite place on the rim. Seigith was right behind her. Hina watched them go and nodded with satisfaction. She turned and handed the basket to Smoker with little smile, and he took it more out of reflex than anything else. Canvas lining showed under the tied-down lid. It was heavy, and very warm.

“Alabasta is a fine hold, Orith enjoyed the hot sand,” she said, “but Hina very happy to be home.” She turned and headed for the entrance to the lower caverns.

Smoker adjusted his grip on the basket and followed. “Where do you want this thing?” he asked, and Hina glanced back over her shoulder with a little smile.

“That,” she said, “is yours now.” She laughed a little and preceded him into the hallway, getting swept up in conversation almost immediately with a couple of the lower caverns staff. He glanced down at the basket with mild misgiving.

Feeling a frown form across his face, Smoker went on to his office and opened the wicker-woven mystery container. He undid the ties on the basket lid and lifted it away.

The basket was full of sand. For a moment he stared down at the pale tan grains in perplexity. Alabasta’s large island was mostly desert, but even so, this was an unusually literal diplomatic gift. Well, sand explained the weight. He drew his fingers along the warm surface, and—oh. A blue-green shell was exposed, much smaller but otherwise identical to a dragon’s egg, and he knew what this little basket held, now.

Raising a hand to brush lightly at the surface sand, he uncovered another dully gleaming fire-lizard egg, this one mottled greeny-bronze with brown speckles. Fire-lizard eggs were rare in the territory, most islands having few beaches suited for wild golds to lay their clutches, the vast majority made up of loose stones or sheer cliffs. Alabasta was one notable exception. This was quite a surprise—even with fire lizards themselves becoming more common these days, clutches still had to be searched for and dug up. Even Impressed golds laid their clutches in secret.

A knock at his door, and it opened to let Hina enter. She laughed a little when he looked up and gave her an annoyed look. “So. I assume I'll have to find some way to distribute these?” Handing out things like fire lizard eggs was so often a headache. They were highly sought-after, and between high-ranking riders who actually wanted them and high-ranking riders who wanted a status symbol, they often sparked potentially aggravating internal politics.

“No,” Hina said, “Hina given these as personal gifts from lady heiress Vivi. To the Weyr, Alabasta gifted a full clutch. There are eighteen more, they’re in Hina's weyr for now.” Smoker felt his eyebrows rise.

This gesture was unofficial, then—the nature of the gift, being spread as it was among the riders of the Weyr, and given in this way, just handed over instead of being presented at some function or holiday or other, was not a public gesture but a true gift of goodwill. Smoker was deeply appreciative; he respected the ruling family of Alabasta as governors and individuals. Perhaps more so than usual, today, with Vivi’s much-appreciated forestalling of jockeying for favour among the riders.

“There are enough to satisfy everyone with that,” he said. The annoying ones, like those two idiots Hina had for some insane reason found useful, Jango and Fullbody, could be assuaged from kicking up a fuss, and ones Smoker felt actually deserved the chance to obtain one, like that fine youngster Coby, and his surprisingly reformed son-of-an-idiot friend, Helmeppo, would have the opportunity. Even if the mentally... unconventional... retired flightleader Garp had trained those two, back when Lord Luffy had just been beginning his legendary voyage, before Smoker's rise to weyrleadership, they'd turned out pretty well.

So there were more than enough, in fact, for which Smoker was relieved. “But you don’t want these?” He recovered the eggs and replaced the lid. They’d need to be placed near a hearth to keep the heat in for the remainder of their development. Perhaps another week, from their current hardness.

Hina shook her head. “Orith dislikes them.” Smoker shrugged at that. Some dragons, while tolerating the curious little creatures in general, would suffer intense and constant annoyance if forced to cohabit with them. And of course some just hated them and scared them off if they so much as came near, but Orith was far too polite for that. “Hina explained this to lady heiress Vivi, and she said that they were Hina’s to keep or share, and Hina knows you’d like them.” She gave him another smile, still certainly amused, but with some real affection this time, and he couldn’t very well be annoyed… much. Seigith was one of the dragons who adored the little creatures.

 _Fire lizards?_ Seigith asked, his interest piqued enough now to distract him from conversation with his mate.

 _So it seems. Two for me._ That statement was followed by a flood of elation from the bronze. Seigith loved inviting fire lizards to scratch his wing joints or around his back ridges or other places that were delicate or hard to reach. Smoker could already feel him imagining his own personal retinue before he returned his full attention to Orith.

“Hmm, you're right. Could find a use,” he told Hina.

“Hina quite often right,” she replied, and Smoker nodded distractedly, running his thumb over the shell of each egg. Fire lizards were excellent messengers, that was a common job they did for their masters, but they were also vanishingly quick, agile, adept at going _between_ all on their own, and were faithful companions to dragonriders up during Threadfall. They also liked to chase things.

He looked up again to find Hina eyeing him with the expression she always got when Ace came up. Which he hadn’t, not out loud, but there it was anyway: extremely amused, genuinely fond, and altogether too indulgent. He inevitably became self-conscious, could feel it happening now, which only made the amusement in her expression more pronounced.

She leaned in a little closer and added, “If, by chance, one of these eggs hatches in the hands of a certain young brownrider… Hina not mind.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, managing to get the words out noncommittally, and replaced the basket's lid.

For all his discomfiture, the annoyance part of which, like his frequent ire towards Ace, was mostly just habit by now, he was very glad of her return. He enjoyed her company, and the two of them worked well together, with all their years of practice. He was always more comfortable in his skin when she was there with him.

She bade him farewell to head to talk the head of the Lower Caverns, and he returned to his weyr from the inside route. The weyrleadership earned him and Hina the largest weyrs, low on walls but with spacious ledges, hearths, personal bathing pools, large personal offices and, conveniently, access from the lower halls. Seigith liked not having to ferry him all the time, though this time the bronze was waiting for him when he came through his inside entrance.

Smoker gave him a suitable glower when he rounded the entry nook corner to see Seigith's head shoved past the door curtain between the dragon’s couch room and Smoker's main living area.

 _I want to see,_ Seigith said, with a mental shrug and no apology at all.

Removing the lid again, Smoker brought the little basket to Seigith, who sniffed lightly at it before angling his head to inspect it closely with one huge, faceted eye.

Unlike dragons, fire lizards would Impress to any human who fed them when they hatched. It wasn't a survival requirement by any means, as it was for dragons—as witnessed be the wild groups thriving around the planet—but once Impressed to a human, the little things did become more like their huge cousins. They reacted to their human's feelings, and could affect them in turn. Fire lizard mating flights affected the associated humans in a less all-consuming way than dragon mating flights; from various accounts that travelled the Weyr, it was like a dragon's mating flight throughout which the humans retained their sense of self.

 _Merath and I can't put you two together in mating ourselves, but I bet you’d enjoy it just as much that way,_ Seigith teased him, and Smoker snorted, but the bronze wasn't wrong. Still, there was no way to know what was in these eggs until they hatched. Unlike dragon eggs, even gold eggs were indistinguishable in fire lizard clutches.

Smoker began to get the hearth ready. A few embers from last night's fire remained, and he set the basket aside to start a new one that would create a good bank of coals.

*

Ace woke slowly, warm and comfortable. He breathed in and inhaled Smoker's scent. He stretched, feeling languorous and contented. Merath was asleep too, always a soothing effect on Ace’s mind, and he rolled over and opened his eyes, blinking in the low light of Smoker's bedroom. He could see his hat sitting on the side table, and vaguely remembered eating at Smoker's table before... well, he'd fallen asleep. He smiled to himself, the expression just a slight grimace. He'd rather have stayed awake, made the best of what was left of the day.

He could hear movement in the main room, and the crackle and pop of a new fire. Throwing back the covers, he rose and headed out, yawning. He was naked, which made him snicker to himself. Smoker hadn't _had_ to undress him. Not that Ace minded.

The air was warm and scented with clean-burning wood, and he strolled over to where Smoker was jabbing at a pile of logs with a poker. Ace loved this hearth. Most weyrs only had little iron stoves, not fireplaces with carved-out chimneys like this.

“Hmmm, that's nice,” Ace drawled, and Smoker glanced over his shoulder, eyes raking up and down in a way that Ace thoroughly enjoyed.

“C'mere, Portgas,” Smoker jerked his head towards the spot next to him.

“Dunno, you never did get a fluffy rug like I keep telling you to buy,” Ace answered, only mostly joking. He certainly would not complain if Smoker did find a nice shaggy fur rug to put in front of his hearth. He went to crouch down by Smoker, though, and was presented with a basket.

“Make yourself useful and help me move this into here,” Smoker said, setting a sturdy, fired-clay jar next to the basket.

Ace blinked down at the basket, put a hand down, felt the weight, lifted the lid, saw the sand. He knew what this was. One of the rarest treasures a sailor could hope to find. A few among Whitebeard's large crew had had one. On his brother's crew—his brother's staff, he kept having to correct himself, even now—that green-haired swordsman had three, the longnosed marksman had one and the pretty mapmaster had one. Luffy always had been lucky.

Not that Ace had never found anything good. He had _Merath_. But still, fire lizard eggs didn’t just turn up at the Weyr. “Where—”

“Alabasta,” Smoker said. “Hina brought 'em back, they were hers, but Orith hates the things, so she gave them to me. There's two here,” he added, and shot Ace a sidelong look. “Seigith is desperate for a little friend, but like I said, there's two. You think you want a hat retriever?”

Ace looked down at the basket, then up at Smoker again, momentarily speechless.

He knew very well that Smoker was the exact opposite of a selfish man, but that did nothing to diminish the impact of the gift. Ace had been here at the Weyr for almost four years now, but he'd spent nearly twice that on the seas, and some of his ways of thinking still came from that time.

People fought duels over these things, or just plain murdered for them—they were status symbols, aside from being incredibly useful. For all that the dragonriders of the territory had for so long been seen as worthless, untrustworthy thieves, it was still a mark of power to have what amounted to a miniature dragon attached to you.

Ace could not deny that he'd always been on the lookout for an egg for himself, before Merath. He found fire lizards endearing and would've loved an intelligent little helper like that. Impressing a dragon had met that need beyond his wildest imaginings, but the desire had never really faded. And he knew that Merath enjoyed them too, just like the brown enjoyed most every living thing.

Here at the Weyr, now, their rarity maintained their coveted status among many residents, rider and non-rider alike, even though dragons were hardly mysterious around here.

Smoker reached over and brushed some of the sand aside, and Ace could see the two eggs he uncovered. He watched as Smoker gently dug each one out, and held out his hands to hold them while Smoker poured most of the sand into the new jar. They were warm and felt heavy in his hands, though he knew they didn't weigh that much. A fire lizard hatchling was about as long as a man's palm, excluding the tail. He raised them to look more closely at the patterns on the shells. “Hi there,” he said quietly. He slid a thumb over the brown-speckled one, testing the hardness. “Five days? A week?” he guessed, and Smoker grunted agreement.

“Alright,” Smoker said when the jar was nearly full, and Ace held out his hands. He curled his fingers over the speckled egg, and Smoker took the other one first.

“You really... I can...” Ace said, still struggling with his reaction. One didn't just hand these over like this. And Smoker didn't ever just... give things. He didn’t do presents. Ace didn't expect any—he had Smoker, and Smoker giving any small part of himself was all Ace had wanted, he had seen how difficult that was. He had gotten more than he’d ever imagined he’d be able to claim, and he loved it. But now here was a tangible gift, a hugely valuable one, and something Smoker was depriving himself of in order to provide Ace a way to keep from losing his _hat_.

Smoker retrieved the second egg and settled it next to its fellow. “Yep. You seem to need the help keeping track of your things, so might as well..” He carefully poured the remaining sand around them both, enough left to just cover them, and he set the jar inside the hearth, where the heat would reach it, but it was safe from any potential logs toppling as they burned.

Ace leaned against him when he settled back, and Smoker glanced over, bending the arm Ace was pressed against to run his fingers idly along the line of Ace’s jaw.

“Tell Seigith I'm sorry to have stolen one of his potential minions,” Ace managed, trying to inject his normal teasing back into his voice.

“You think the flitter looking to you is gonna make it any less of Seigith's minion?” Smoker asked.

“Guess not.” Ace laughed.

Smoker's hand settled against his face, wide and warm, and Ace turned into it, the last twinges of guilt about the day easing, and then reached up to pull it away so he could stand. He didn't let go, and Smoker stood as well, running his free hand down Ace's side, and Ace leaned against him, the fire's heat delicious over his bare skin, and the scratch and slide of the cloth and leather of Smoker's belt and shirt and jacket against him very stimulating.

Smoker took his time removing it.

*

Smoker woke alone, though the mattress under his arm where he'd reached over was still warm. He didn't have time to do much more than notice, however, before he heard Ace padding back into the bedroom. Ace slid back under the covers, turning on his side to tuck himself snugly back against Smoker's side. “You alright?” Smoker murmured, still half-asleep.

“Hm? Yeah, yeah. Just checking the fire.”

Smoker snorted in amusement. “I built it. It's fine,” he said, and readjusted himself more comfortably. Ace made a noncommittal sound. “Clutch mama, are we?” Smoker added, somewhat surprised and quite entertained that Ace might be the fussy parental type.

“Hmph,” Ace didn't answer more than that, content to fall asleep, and Smoker closed his eyes to do likewise, comfortable that the day had ended well after all.

*

Ace and Smoker oftentimes slept in each others' beds. They were also well past the point of that only happening in the wake of sex. But this was the first week Smoker had ever felt like Ace had actually moved in with him.

When he wasn't training, or up fighting Thread, Ace hung around Smoker's weyr whenever he could. He was making some kind of effort at hiding it, acting each time as though he was just showing up on a whim, but his first act on coming inside was always to angle himself to walk by the glowing hearth and cast a verifying glance down at the jar there and the state of the coal bank, and each night Smoker was briefly woken by Ace leaving and returning to bed on a quick foray out to the main room.

Ace didn’t seem to think he was doing anything unusual, and kept getting surprised, and protesting, if Smoker pointed it out. The protests turned defensive and thus ever more fun to provoke as the days went on.

Defensiveness aside, Ace seemed unexpectedly uncertain about how to act as the recipient of a gift from Smoker. Smoker had seen him get presents from other riders or weyrfolk over his four years here, and each time he was unfailingly polite, with manners that would’ve suited a meeting with a powerful lord holder. Those manners, though, he applied uniformly to everyone else in the world _except_ Smoker. It was gratifying, and edged far too often into an embarrassingly warm feeling, when he could see the residual softness in Ace's eyes as he glanced up to Smoker from the egg jar.

Ace was so unrelentingly outgoing and pushy, and Smoker was rarely the one to put anything forward. He’d gotten better with time, but gift-giving had never been something either of them had done. It would be worth it from now on, Smoker thought, to see that unique kind of pleasure more often.

And if Ace became just that little bit awkward whenever he remembered that Smoker had given him the egg, Smoker was happy to defuse that by suggesting that, hmm, the fire seemed to have died a little bit. Then he could watch Ace scramble to stir the coals and add a new log while Smoker got back to his paperwork or flight strap repairs or sock darning or whatever other chore Ace was interrupting this time.

Smoker got to see the whole range of Ace’s reactions repeatedly over the following week, as the time between Smoker having given and Ace truly receiving the contents of the egg stretched over the intervening days, until just after Threadfall on the evening of the sixth day after Hina had brought the eggs to the Weyr.

The eighteen eggs handed out among the Weyr populace would hatch in the Dining Hall. The elder fire lizards at the Weyr alerted their humans that eggs would soon hatch, and everyone converged there, waiting for Hina to bring the basket down from her weyr.

Smoker supposed he should have shown himself down there as well, for appearances. He should have let his and Ace's eggs be returned to the big basket so that they could be among the rest, he _should_ have...

But he didn't want to. He'd given this egg to Ace; he wanted to have this little hatching to himself.

And, having rid Merath of his straps while Smoker had received reports from the wingleaders, Ace was waiting for him on his weyrledge when Seigith landed, impatient and completely unable to hide it, hands jammed in his shorts pockets while Smoker undid Seigith’s straps. Until he decided he’d waited long enough and appeared at Smoker’s elbow to help unbuckle the last few.

Shooting him a look of pretend annoyance, Smoker gathered up the straps and Ace preceded him farther inside with a shrug, holding his door curtain for him, then sliding to a halt in front of the hearth and dropping to sit cross-legged on the stone floor like a kid, latching hands around his ankles and fidgeting while Smoker set aside the straps and shucked his flight jacket.

He’d been a hypocrite in his earlier feigned annoyance, because he was feeling a type of excitement that echoed back twenty years to Seigith’s hatching, and he hurried the last few steps.

 _No point in appearances here, after all,_ Seigith pointed out, and Smoker acknowledged that distractedly. Ace had set the bowl of fish scraps the kitchen had prepared for the imminent hatchlings on the floor ready for them both to feed the tiny but ravenous stomachs.

Smoker reached over the barrier to retrieve the jar. It was warm under his palms, and he sat as Ace had and put the jar between them. He took the lid off and set it aside. The sandy surface was undisturbed still, and he began to brush sand away until he felt a twitch under his fingers. “They're moving,” he said, and Ace let a breath out through an avid grin.

The first one he uncovered was Ace's, all greeny-bronze mottling and brown speckles, and a fully hardened shell, now become thin and brittle. He felt the strike against his palm of a hatchling's nose beating at the inside of its shell. His own was just as lively as he lifted it from its sandy hiding place.

The brown-speckled egg twitched particularly hard, and he was quick to set it down in Ace's waiting hands.

He cupped his own around the green-blue swirled shell. Ace leaned forward, holding his own hands right next to Smoker's, and they watched them rock, waited for the cracks to appear.

Smoker glanced up for a moment to watch Ace's face. Ace's eye were wide with anticipation, his smile small and eager and the slightest bit nervous.

Ace had never been a candidate. Smoker hadn't had the chance to see him on the sands like so many of the younger dragonriders here, standing in sandals and a white robe, waiting to see if a dragonet would choose him. Maybe it would've been something like this, his wide grin eased back from cocky confidence to become simply open and rapt from the weight of witnessing a birth. He looked up and met Smoker's eyes, his smile widening before they both looked down again.

Seigith and Merath couldn't fit in here. Rather, Smoker could feel the particularly focused sensation of Seigith concentrating to see what Smoker saw. He had a feeling Merath was doing the same.

“C'mon, you can do it,” Ace encouraged, and Smoker rubbed a thumb against the side of his egg in similar urging. He felt two quick taps and saw a crack begin and then snake around the egg.

Ace gasped and Smoker glanced over to see the brown-speckled egg break apart, half of it splitting into shards that fell away from wet bronze hide.

A violent lurch and his own cracked at last, opening to reveal a mere strip of vibrant green, and then the hatchling gave a prodigious heave and forced the two halves apart to sprawl out over his hands, peeping hungrily. Seigith's immediate giddy joy flooded through him, and he felt himself smile at the tiny, perfect green in his hands.

“Green?” Ace said, and stared at her, then at the little bronze trying to get to wobbly feet in his hands. “No, you should have—”

Smoker pulled his hands to his chest when Ace started to hold the bronze towards him, jerking his chin at the bowl at Ace's knee. “She’s mine,” Smoker growled, “now _you_ feed _him_.” Ace looked momentarily ambivalent, but then the little bronze squeaked for the first time and kept squeaking, and Ace went for the bowl.

Smoker gently maneuvered his tiny new charge into one hand before reaching into the bowl himself for few chunks of fish. The little green managed to sit on her haunches, scrambling for a hold on his fingertips. Her claws dug in at last to steady her, though Smoker could barely feel it, and she swallowed her first bite of meat eagerly and lunged for the next, little wings flapping at random intervals as she took her first meal, piece by tiny piece, from his fingers. He was given a brief, sparkling burst of joy and gratitude, and he knew she was well and truly Impressed. He wouldn’t gain the constant awareness of her inner mind, like he had with Seigith, but he’d be able to call her to him with a thought, and she would now communicate to him with images and emotions, as she saw fit.

 _She's very energetic,_ Seigith noted approvingly. _I'm sure she'll give wonderful backscratches around my ridges._

Smoker laughed quietly, and fed her another bit of fish. She was slowing down in her eating now, and he had time to run a knuckle lightly down her back, making her arch and curl her tail around his finger.

“There we go... oh...” Ace said, a smile in his voice. Smoker offered his green another bite of food and looked up to see the bronze hatchling yawn, then curl himself tightly on Ace's palm and go to sleep, just like any newly hatched and fed dragonet.

The green was next. Uninterested in further food, she turned and cast about, moving clumsily back over Smoker's palm to encounter the cuff of his coat. She seemed to find this promising and stuck her head under it. “Ah,” Smoker said, “no.” He gently pulled her out and lowered his arm to offer her one of the pockets. She tumbled into it, and curled up to fall asleep.

Once certain she'd dropped off, Smoker carefully removed his jacket, twisting to pull the chair by the wall next to the hearth closer to the heat. He arranged his jacket on the seat so that she was well padded below and able to easily get out when she awoke, which would be in a few hours or so. He looked at Ace and inclined his head with raised eyebrows, and Ace leaned over to carefully slide the slumbering knot of bronze into a fold of Smoker's jacket.

Ace leaned back with an indulgent smile at his new charge, and then blinked and looked at Smoker with lingering uncertainty. “You sure you're fine with...”

He trailed off with a sheepish shrug when Smoker just stared at him with a flat look. “Yes,” he was all he said.

And he was. He had had no investment in what colour fire lizard would emerge from his egg beyond that it actually do so, and appear healthy. He was frankly relieved not to have a gold—gold fire lizard owners were inevitably pestered for eggs. For Smoker, the cosmetic appeal of the rarest colour was absolutely outweighed by the relief not to have to worry about anyone bothering him any more than usual. As for any of the “ranking” colours, the brown or bronze fire lizards, well… he was weyrleader. The colour of Seigith’s hide was perfectly obvious, as was the fact that Orith only ever allowed Seigith to catch her when she rose to mate. He didn't need a fire lizard to make himself feel important.

“Are you alright with yours, brat? Or did you want a gold?” he asked Ace.

“He’s fine,” Ace said with a wide smile.

“Good,” Smoker said, dropping any growl or bite from his voice. “He’s good enough anyway. Should grow plenty big enough to chase after that damned hat of yours.”

Ace’s hand moved to his chest, closing around the tasselled strings dangling below the cinch medallion. “Thank you,” he said then, quiet, his eyes far away for a moment. His gaze focused again, and Smoker saw that softness around it that he'd so enjoyed seeing all this week long, but now it lingered, not vanishing into one of Ace's more usual cocky grins. A slight flush stole over his face, reddening his skin under his freckles as he endured Smoker watching him.

Smoker leaned forward and nudged Ace’s fingers away from the strings, taking them himself to raise them up over Ace’s head and get that hat off. He set it gently on the floor. “Pretty sure it's not gonna walk off on its own,” Smoker said, and leaned forward. Ace met him halfway in a warm kiss, but brief, as Ace broke it to unfold from his sitting position and drop onto Smoker's lap to wrap around him in a hug that Smoker returned just as tightly, gratitude welling up for Ace’s presence, persistence, and inexplicable attachment to one of the least approachable humans on the planet.

 _You’re entirely worth it, my love,_ Seigith whispered to him with a warm flood of enduring affection, while Ace's strong hands spread flat over his back, and Smoker locked his arms around Ace's solid torso.

Ace’s hair bore the acrid scent of Thread ash and the tang of pulverized firestone over the sharper smell of his body’s dried sweat from the exertion of today's ‘Fall. Smoker himself was no better, he knew, grimy with ash and firestone dust.

“You stink, Portgas,” Smoker said, and kissed his neck.

“Speak for yourself, Captain.” Ace bit lightly at the angle of his jaw, then disentangled their upper bodies, the motion shifting lower regions against each other instead. “But if you ask really nicely,” he said, standing up to lean over Smoker in a perfectly lewd position, “I’ll give you a bath.”

Smoker grabbed at his shorts, missing as Ace skipped back, his most maddening grin in place, and turned to saunter off in the direction of Smoker’s bathing room.

Shoving himself to his feet, Smoker picked Ace's hat up off the floor, then followed Ace, leaving his coat where it was arranged so carefully on the chair, and Ace’s hat hung above it on the back.


End file.
